


Going Viral

by DeHeerKonijn, Roselightfairy



Series: like, comment, subscribe [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, COVID-19 Inspired, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pandemics, in chapter 8 only, lockdown - Freeform, set in DHK's modern Middle-earth, text and images
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 12:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeHeerKonijn/pseuds/DeHeerKonijn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: Warning for current events and COVID-19.When a dangerous new virus spreads rapidly through Middle-earth, Gondor goes quickly into lockdown. Legolas and Gimli weather the pandemic together as best they can.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Series: like, comment, subscribe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183949
Comments: 81
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When you’re dealing with a once-in-a-lifetime (we can only hope) pandemic, there are different ways of coping. Some people cope through ignoring it entirely, and if you are one of those people, you will probably want to skip this story, at least for now. Others cope through projecting their own woes onto fictional characters, and DeHeerKonijn’s modern Middle-earth proved to be the perfect place to do just that. This story is a series of snippets written by both of us that take place in a scenario where that modern Middle-earth goes through what we’re going through now. (But with better leadership; thanks Aragorn!) This deals directly with pandemic scenarios, and even uses the same name (because we didn’t want to come up with a different one), so be warned that this story is not an escape from COVID-19, but rather a different kind of coping mechanism.
> 
> This is Take Two for Roselightfairy of coping through fanfic, projecting pandemic scenarios onto fictional characters, and having everything turn out all right for _them,_ but we have both contributed to these snippets. (Though you still might be able to tell who wrote which ones.) We’re posting what we have written for now, in chronological order as it happens, but this doesn’t mean there won’t be other snippets added in the future - and if they are, we’ll just specify in the notes when they take place.
> 
> Rating note: the majority of this story is T-rated, but there will be some minor explicit content later on. We’ll warn for the chapter it’s in so people can skip it if they want!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Minas Tirith first locks down for the pandemic, Legolas and Gimli enjoy the chance to spend some quality time together.

“Pippin thinks we’ve eaten each other,” Legolas called out to the room at large.

Gimli was at the window in his fluffy gray bathrobe, watching the oddly empty city streets below. He huffed a rusty laugh around the rim of his coffee mug.

“Not yet today. But it’s not even noon, so who knows?”

Legolas smirked in answer, though Gimli had his back towards him and could not see. He opened his phone camera, arched his back, and was arranging himself artistically on the couch when Gimli’s work laptop chimed with an incoming email.

Legolas twisted to look over his shoulder, watched as Gimli shuffled over to where it was half-heartedly propped open on the dining room table. It wasn’t even plugged into the charger.

“Fun’s over?” Legolas asked. There was a brief silence as Gimli read.

“Hm,” he said around another mouthful of coffee. “Hm.”

“What?” Legolas pressed. It wasn’t an immediate _yes, stop screwing around_ , so he went back to his Instagram.

“Looks like the university’s made the call to do remote learning for the time being,” Gimli explained. “There’s going to be an online faculty meeting on Tuesday to explain Zâram and the set-up plan.” 

His voice didn’t sound concerned, exactly, but there was a tone to it that suggested the novelty of sheltering in place was going to be a lot less temporary than everyone initially expected. 

“What does that mean for you right now?” Legolas asked.

Gimli caught his gaze and gave a sly grin. The ceramic plinked as he set it down beside his laptop.

“Early lunch?”

Legolas laughed with delight as Gimli crossed the room towards him, shedding his bathrobe as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the quarantine honeymoon wears off, Legolas struggles with the ethics of what it means to be an elf in a pandemic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the fun things about modern Middle-earth is thinking about the different skills, abilities, and attributes of the fantasy races - and particularly how that would show up in work and union settings, _particularly_ for elves. A pandemic is a high-stakes way to explore that.

Signing out for the day was one of the things Gimli did miss from in-person teaching – there was just something less satisfying about closing the Zâram window, rather than his usual routine of chatting with any stragglers while he packed up his things and actually locking up and leaving his office. It made the boundary a little less clear, less noticeable. But still, he didn’t miss the train commute home, and it was nice to only have to walk five steps and be in the vicinity of the couch. Gimli closed his laptop with a decisive snap, stood up for a satisfying stretch – and winced at the sound of his back popping; he hadn’t sat for this many hours straight since he was a student himself – and plodded out into the living room, looking for his husband.

He found Legolas on the couch, as usual, crunched up in a tight ball and scrolling his phone, his jaw tight. He didn’t even look up when Gimli came to stand next to him, but he did swallow audibly and draw in on himself.

“What’s up?” Gimli asked, though he had the sneaking suspicion he knew.

“Meal pickup,” Legolas said tightly. “In the Third Circle. They’re asking for any elf volunteers to help distribute.”

Gimli winced in sympathy and put a hand on the back of Legolas’s neck. The muscle underneath was hard as a rock, making his own hunched-over-a-desk creakiness feel paltry. Legolas had been winding tighter and tighter about this in the last few weeks – since Aragorn had locked the city down and ordered all non-essential businesses to close temporarily, since they’d all realized this quarantine was going to be more than a brief little vacation.

It was weird to get updates on your good friend from the news, and on local policy from your group chat, but Aragorn had been working feverishly (though that might be poor word choice) to make sure no one would go hungry during the shutdowns, no businesses would be forced to close permanently. But that meant someone still needed to be working, so the big question on everybody’s minds was _elves_. Could elves get this new disease? If they couldn’t – which was what it looked like, as not a single elf had yet tested positive for it – could they spread it? And if they couldn’t do either, what was the moral obligation they had to help out with the essential work – and how much could they ethically be asked to do?

Thank Mahal Legolas didn’t work an actual job where he would be running into these issues legally, but the solution everyone had settled on for the moment (amidst general panic and fierce fights from elf-specific unions) was that elves could at least be asked to volunteer for these tasks, if they felt safe and willing. And while it didn’t technically violate ethics standards of forced labor, it did create a whole new moral and ethical struggle – a sucking vortex which Legolas’s however many followers seemed determined to drag him directly into.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, probing at the muscle between Legolas’s neck and shoulder with his thumb.

Legolas looked up at him miserably. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I should, shouldn’t I? But” – He gestured up at Gimli.

“I know.” Gimli tilted his head and squinted, trying to make out Legolas’s screen – and Legolas flipped his phone upside down and clamped it between his legs. “What are they saying?”

Legolas shrugged. “The usual.”

He hadn’t actually told Gimli what “the usual” was, but he’d shared the gist of the messages he’d been getting for the last few days: people asking him why he wasn’t out there volunteering, or shaming him for not “stepping up” and doing his part. There were supportive messages, too, of course, but from what Gimli could tell, the nastier ones were – well. Nasty. Legolas hadn’t been this distressed about the contents of his DMs since – well, since that _one_ time, but Gimli was working diligently on erasing all traces of that from his memory, thank you very much. And even then, none of the messages had been so shockingly cruel. Yes, maybe their entire livelihood had felt like it was balancing on a tightrope, but – no one then had been this _mean_.

“What do you want to do?” asked Gimli softly. If it were only a matter of disinterest, the guilt would have worked on Legolas days ago; this wouldn’t even be a question. But there were – other factors to consider.

“I don’t know!” said Legolas again, more vehemently this time. “It’s like, how am I supposed to – well, what do _you_ think I should do?” He twisted up to look at Gimli, his eyes pleading. “Do you think I should go?”

Gimli could only shrug. “I can’t make your decisions for you,” he said. This tendency in Legolas was something he’d never quite understood, the way he made decisions like this into a burden too heavy for his own shoulders and then asked someone else to share the weight. But then, maybe this whole situation was just proof that all of their choices were more connected than Gimli liked to think.

“This isn’t just my decision, though!” Legolas said urgently, echoing Gimli’s own thoughts. “I could – Gimli. If it were just giving out food, that’s whatever, I’d do it no question, but – this covid thing is – it’s too serious and I don’t know enough!” His hands clawed into his hair, bunching it on top of his head in a disorganized bundle. “I’ve been looking up all records of elves living with mortals, but there aren’t enough, or they’re not talking, and they don’t know who’s been in contact with who, and I can’t” – He let his hands fall into his lap all at once, his hair spilling in clumps over his face – clumps that did not conceal the tears gleaming in his eyes. “I can’t risk you, Gimli. I feel awful about it, but I couldn’t bear it if – I can’t even think about” –

His lip trembled, and Gimli bent down over the couch to gather him into his arms. Legolas clung to him, his much-abused hair tumbling over Gimli’s shoulders as he crumbled into Gimli’s hold. Gimli shifted Legolas over so that he could squeeze in between him and the armrest, pulling him half onto his lap. The phone slid through Legolas’s legs and in between the cushions, but they both ignored it.

“I know,” Gimli said, rocking Legolas gently. He wasn’t _so_ worried himself, not yet – or maybe it was just easier to keep calm about your own well-being when your husband was a hypochondriac about it – and he would let Legolas go volunteer if he wanted to. However connected their decisions might be, it still wasn’t his place to keep Legolas from doing something if he truly thought it was right. But . . .

But whatever Gimli’s own ambivalence on the matter, Legolas was terrified of the thought of bringing this new disease home, and Gimli certainly couldn’t blame him for that. No matter how many of his followers did. He kissed the top of Legolas’s head, pulling him closer into his arms. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Gimli settle into a routine.

* * *

Sometimes it felt like the people at Trader M’s were deliberately trying to manipulate him.

The potted Maidenhair fern tilted dangerously in Legolas’s left arm, and he paused in the entryway of the grocery store to adjust it, letting his bags rest on his feet as he shifted his hold on the plant. When it was reasonably secured, he scooped up his bags again with his right hand and made his way out with an apologetic nod at all the people trying to move around him, hoping they could read his contrition around the mask covering two-thirds of his face.

He probably shouldn’t have bought the plant; Gimli would grumble about it, and he didn’t _really_ have the space in his arms to carry it along with all the groceries. But it wasn’t _his_ fault that Trader M’s kept all their plants right before the self-check area where he couldn’t help seeing them! It wasn’t _his_ fault the cold in the store had them all wilting and complaining! If it were up to him he would have rescued every one of them, but that would have necessitated a lot more carrying capacity than he had, particularly since he was walking rather than taking transit. Elves didn’t _seem_ vulnerable to covid, even still, which was why the shopping was Legolas’s job, but he could still spread it to Gimli, and they didn’t want to take that chance.

Legolas shuddered at the thought. Gimli didn’t know, but he’d gone down more than one late-night rabbit hole of horror reading articles of dwarves released from the ICU but with permanent lung damage, dwarves winded even months later from a single flight of stairs. He remembered running the last Khazad-Doom! obstacle course with Gimli – he couldn’t bear to lose that. He couldn’t bear for _Gimli_ to lose that – or worse . . .

No. No, he was not thinking about that right now. He was masked up, he’d done self-check, and he would wipe down all of their groceries before putting them in the fridge. He was taking no chances. Gimli was going to be fine.

His arms were aching by the time he reached their apartment, the inside of his mask damp from his own breath. (If there was one thing quarantine had taught him, it was that he _definitely_ needed to brush his teeth several times a day.) He set down the bags again to open the door, trying not to spill their contents all over the hallway, and finally managed to get himself and all the groceries inside without spilling any soil.

In these days, it was the small victories.

“Meleth?” he called when Gimli said nothing in response to the door opening. “I’m home!”

A grumble from the study was all he received in response.

Well, fine. It wouldn’t be quite as funny as if Gimli had come to greet him to see him with the plant in his arms, but this way he could make a production. He left the bags by the door and went into the study with his new friend. “Meleth,” he singsonged, “I brought you a present!”

Gimli was sitting at his desk, his head resting on one hand, the other hand twisted up and probing at the back of his neck. He didn’t even turn to look up when Legolas came in, just grunted again.

“Gimli?” Legolas set the fern down on his own desk and came to stand behind him, letting his hands fall naturally onto Gimli’s shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Hm?” said Gimli, his voice tired. “Nothing.” His other hand probed at his face between his eyes; his reading glasses rested on the keyboard in front of him.

Legolas let his own hands probe at Gimli’s shoulders, eliciting a hiss from the dwarf. And it was no wonder - the skin beneath his fingers slid with his touch as though shifting around on a layer of solid stone. Sitting at the computer all day could not be good for him. “Headache?” he asked.

Gimli grunted again in affirmative.

“Gimli,” Legolas chided. He looked over Gimli’s shoulder at the time on the computer - yes, 5:30, at least an hour after Gimli’s last class got out. “Have you moved at all since I left?” That had been an hour ago!

Gimli shrugged in a way that meant _no_.

“Then you haven’t moved from this chair all day!”

Gimli let out another hiss as Legolas probed at his neck; emboldened, Legolas returned his ministrations to that spot. “Got up for lunch,” he grumbled.

“Not good enough,” said Legolas. “Get off the computer now; I’ll make you tea – oh!” All at once he remembered the groceries, abandoned in the hallway, his own unwashed hands. He yanked them away from Gimli’s shoulders immediately. “I haven’t even washed my hands yet. And I have to wipe down the groceries.”

“You know, they say that doesn’t really” – 

“I expect you to be off the computer by the time I finish,” Legolas interrupted. Sure, it was annoying to buy packaged mushrooms instead of selecting them himself (and the waste of packaging!), and it was even more annoying to wipe down everything before putting it in the fridge, but it made him feel better, so he was going to keep doing it. “Meet you in the living room.”

Gimli grumbled another mess of syllables that Legolas chose to take as assent, promising himself he would bully Gimli into the living room himself if he didn’t do it on his own.

But he was rewarded – by the time all the groceries were safely stowed and two cups of tea brewed, Gimli had relocated to the couch, lying across its length but sitting up willingly to let Legolas slip under him and return his attentions to his neck. Even just changing position seemed to have relaxed him, and he sighed and leaned into Legolas’s touch. “Best part of the day,” he murmured.

“Mine, too.” Legolas smiled and tucked a kiss against the back of Gimli’s head.

They lay there in companionable silence for another moment before Gimli spoke. “You know,” he said conversationally, “we’re going to run out of space eventually.”

“Hm?”

Gimli laughed. “You can’t just keep buying plants every time they have them at the grocery store, Legolas. They’re going to take over our whole apartment.”

“They’re sad!” Legolas protested. He paused and added reflectively, “And so am I.”

But just as he had hoped, the petulance in his voice made Gimli laugh, and Legolas couldn’t help smiling behind him, basking in the comfort of their position and Gimli’s company. If only for this moment, that last sentence was a lie. And sometimes, like right now, that had to be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Legolas's great distress, a new variant emerges and seems to validate all his fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are a bit of a contained arc. You know the hypochondria? The oh-no-I-left-my-house-what-is-this-tickle-in-my-throat feeling? How else to deal with that feeling than project it onto fictional characters?

Gimli was halfway through a first-year essay (grimacing as he read; for all his efforts, the difficulty of online teaching was _extremely_ apparent in the quality of his students’ work) when his phone began to buzz.

Glad of the excuse to look away from the essay, he glanced down to see Legolas’s contact information on the screen, and smiled. It almost felt like old times, getting a call from Legolas, even if usually he would be the one out and about and Legolas the one at home. But Legolas was out for the moment, helping his friend Faimes at her clinic – months of guilt trips from his followers had finally combined with her exhausted, overworked request for help to convince him – and it was strange to be home alone.

Gimli smiled as he swiped to answer and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he started, but he was interrupted before he could even finish the word.

“I can’t come home.” Legolas’s voice was frantic, muffled from (presumably) his mask and the noise of city traffic.

“What?” That was so far from what Gimli had been expecting that he almost felt physically jolted. “Legolas – what happened?”

“An elf just got covid.”

Legolas’s voice was bleak, though still with that frantic edge, and Gimli’s stomach dropped through the floor. “What?” he whispered. Maybe somehow he had misheard – although there wasn’t anything else those words could have possibly been.

“Yeah.” Legolas was breathing heavily – panicking, or just walking fast? Maybe both. “Like, really publicly. Like, she found out on _Instagram live_. And then I looked it up and there have actually been like six cases. And they’re thinking it’s a new variant, and I – _fuck_.” That last word came out as an explosion of fricative static, followed by a torrent of desperate obscenity. “I fucking knew I shouldn’t have done this fucking clinic shift, what was I thinking, I’m sure there were people there who had it and didn’t say or didn’t know” –

“Okay, okay, okay, wait.” Gimli felt anything but calm; he felt like the floor was disappearing from beneath his feet, but Legolas was panicking and someone had to keep a cool head. “So you just found out that elves have gotten covid.” He put the phone on speaker and clicked away from the essay to open Palantir. _Elf covid_ – and ah, there they were. The first result was a video: _Elf goes viral – literally – on Instagram live_. Gimli could have hit the person who wrote that headline – and then other links: _reports of elves with COVID-18 spark questions about new variants_ – _Elves should leave their superiority complexes at home and lock down with the rest of us_ – the name on that last one sounded familiar; Gimli thought Legolas had mentioned its writer as a known troll before. “You said there were six?”

“As far as Arwen knows,” said Legolas. “But there could be more, if they haven’t been testing elves! And they could be anywhere – it could be anywhere – someone at the clinic could have had it, even if they didn’t know; people lie about symptoms all the time, and I – Gimli, if this variant can affect elves, what must it do to – I can’t come home!” His voice rose in pitch with every word until he was nearly wailing.

“Wait, wait. These elves – how badly do they have it?” Gimli could guess why Legolas was panicking, and it was for the opposite reason he was teetering on the verge himself. He had thought Legolas was safe for so long – had he been putting his husband in danger every time Legolas went out to get their groceries instead of Gimli? Had he been –

“Not badly,” said Legolas. “Mostly asymptomatic or mild symptoms. But if I got it and spread it to you” –

“Okay, wait.” Gimli took the phone off speaker and lifted it to his ear again, trying to think. “You were masked, right? At the clinic?”

“Double,” Legolas confirmed. “But those are only partially effective, and” –

“They’re pretty effective, though. But okay. Okay.” Legolas wouldn’t let that be enough. “Can you get tested? Isn’t there that drive-in testing place at the clinic?”

“I asked Faimes already,” said Legolas miserably. “She said it would be too soon for the test to catch it. She said I should wait two days, then get tested.”

“Okay, we can do that.” Gimli got up from his desk and wandered into the hall, looking around at their apartment. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t come home. We can just quarantine you in the bedroom and I’ll bring you food with a mask on” –

“No,” Legolas said. “I don’t want to be inside with you. What if the air filter isn’t good enough?”

“You can’t just wander the streets for two days, Legolas!” said Gimli – because he _would_ , if someone didn’t stop him. “You probably don’t even have it; the bedroom will be fine” –

“The balcony,” said Legolas stubbornly. “I’ll come home, but I’m going straight to the balcony. I can stay out there.”

“Legolas” – Gimli tried.

“The balcony or I’m not coming home at all,” Legolas said. “I can’t – I’m not risking any more than that, Gimli. Dwarves already get this bad enough, and if this variant can affect elves” –

“I know,” Gimli said, “you said that already. Okay, fine.” The balcony was still better than the alley. “I’ll get it set up out there for you. But come home now, okay?”

“Yeah,” Legolas said, his voice breaking audibly even through the muffling of the phone line. “Yeah, okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is true to his word about balcony living.

Gimli’s 101 class ended at 12:15. His phone rang at exactly 12:16.

He didn’t even need to check the caller ID to see who it was (though he did, out of habit). “Yes, love?” he said, closing the remote window.

“I have a headache.”

Legolas’s voice was tinnily plaintive, fear and the phone adding in a jarring almost metallic edge to its light musicality. Gimli pushed his chair back, one hand drifting to his lower back to stretch out the kinks as he rose to his feet. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Do you want me to bring you some Advil?”

“No, no, don’t come out,” said Legolas frantically. “I looked it up and ElfMD said headaches are a symptom. Lots of the elves who have had it” –

“Haven’t there only been,” Gimli frowned, reviewing the headlines in his mind, “six cases of elves getting it?”

“Yes,” said Legolas, “and four of them had headaches.”

Gimli pushed his desk chair back in and opened the study door. Athelas and Simbelmyne twittered at the sound – Legolas wasn’t inside to translate, but Gimli was sure they were sadder than usual with just him in the house – but he ignored them, veering around their cage towards the sliding glass door out onto the balcony.

Legolas was on the other side, phone clutched to his ear, his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed with unhappiness. He pressed a palm flat to the door when Gimli approached, and Gimli lifted his own to match it as they talked. Even with the glass between them, it felt like _something._ “That’s too small a sample size to be sure of anything,” he pointed out.

“But it’s big enough to be concerned.” Legolas’s voice was barely audible on the other side of the door, louder through the phone; he pouted and Gimli wished he could hold him close. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t be doing these precautionary measures – Legolas didn’t even know for sure if he had been exposed, after all, he was just being paranoid – but when he moved his hand to the slider handle, Legolas’s own shot out to mirror the motion, seizing the handle and holding it closed. “Don’t!” he said into the phone. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” Gimli said. “And – look, I know why you’re worried, but sometimes a headache is just a headache.”

“Sometimes,” Legolas said stubbornly. “But I never get them. Except” –

“Except during a sea-longing episode,” Gimli forged ahead. Bringing up those thoughts was dangerous at a time like this, with Legolas so near the brink as it was, but maybe the logic would help. “And you’ve been so stressed out these last couple days that I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why.”

Legolas did not look convinced. “But that on top of the tightness in my chest from this morning” –

Ah, yes, his first phone call. “This morning, when you were panicking?” said Gimli pointedly.

“I’m panicking because I think I have _covid!”_

Okay, so logic wasn’t going to help here. “Babe,” Gimli said, as soothingly as he could. “No amount of freaking out is going to get your test results in any faster. I really, really think you’re manifesting these symptoms because you’re so stressed out. I’m not saying you’re wrong to be stressed out!” he continued hastily as Legolas opened his mouth on the other side of the door. “I’m just saying let’s wait and let the test be the judge, okay?”

Legolas deflated all at once, his shoulders dropping and his head sagging forward until his forehead pressed against the glass door. There were several smears at that height, Gimli noticed now, which meant that Legolas would be cleaning the door when this was all over. (Or maybe he should put the supplies outside the door so Legolas had something to occupy himself.) “I know,” he said. “It’s just – I can’t be sure, and I – I miss you.”

Gimli pressed his free hand flat to the door again. “I miss you, too,” he said. Class wasn’t the same without Legolas popping into the room to bring him coffee or retrieve a bird, reminding Gimli that he wasn’t alone while staying carefully just out of sight of his camera. “But it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

“You really do think?” said Legolas, that same plaintive note entering his voice.

“I really do,” Gimli assured him. “But are you sure you don’t want me to bring you any Advil?”

“Yes,” said Legolas firmly.

“Okay, then.” Gimli was pretty sure Legolas had some herbal tea blend or whatever it was in the cupboard, though; he resolved to make some of that and bring it out with Legolas’s lunch later. If nothing else, maybe it would help him relax. “But you have to do me a favor, okay? No more ElfMD. It doesn’t know what it’s talking about.”

“But” –

“No.” Legolas’s Palantir searches were always increasingly weird and frantic whenever Gimli had so much as the sniffles; he should have suspected he’d be doing the same in this case, especially given how much more serious covid could be – especially to mortals. “None of the other websites has ever given you helpful advice and you know it; why would this one be any different?”

Legolas sighed. “I guess you’re right.” He gave Gimli another pleading look. “But what if” –

“No!” Gimli couldn’t help but laugh, and – was that the slightest flicker of a smile on Legolas’s face? “No more. I forbid it.”

“Fine.” Legolas’s lips pursed an instant before the sound of his kiss came through the phone. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Gimli said. “I have a meeting in ten minutes, but I’ll bring you some lunch after.”

“Warn me so I can be on the other side of the” –

“I know, I know.” Gimli rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly anyway. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Legolas sighed. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas celebrate Legolas's negative test results with food and sleep.

“. . . and now that we’re both inside to do it, we should call my parents,” Gimli continued. “My dad wanted to talk yesterday but I talked him into waiting. I don’t know if he mentioned it to you” – his father’s and Legolas’s bizarre text chat of communication-by-meme was practically another baffling language to Gimli – “but I was thinking maybe tomorrow?” There was no answer – but then, he hadn’t really phrased it as a question. “Legolas?”

Still no answer. In fact, Legolas had been quiet for a few moments – and, Gimli realized, his weight against his shoulder had shifted –

He turned, cradling his takeout container carefully in one hand, and suppressed a smile. Legolas was sitting up still, but he would not be for long. His own hand holding his takeout container had gone lax, his eyes fallen nearly closed, the precarious bundle of hair perched atop his head had listed to one side – and the head itself would clearly be next.

Gimli supposed he should be surprised Legolas had made it this long – that he had made it inside from the balcony, through a shower, and halfway through their celebratory no-covid takeout meal before passing out. He was very familiar with Legolas’s stress-rituals after so many years, and the not-sleeping-for-days-before-collapsing was a well-worn practice.

Legolas’s hand sagged, a few noodles slipping over the edge to dangle like limp snakes towards the ground, and Gimli snapped out of his own reverie, setting his own container aside to rescue Legolas’s before he sent the whole mess onto the floor. Legolas swayed with the motion, but did not wake.

Gimli would be surprised if anything could rouse him at this point, and he turned towards his husband to more fully appreciate the sight. Legolas’s face was slack and relaxed, the tension from the last few days fled somewhere beyond his dreams. The cushions shifted as Gimli moved, bunching the hem of Legolas’s shirt between him and the couch, and Legolas snuffled but did not stir.

Very carefully, Gimli leaned over to free Legolas’s hair from the elastic. It cascaded down in a mess of half-damp waves, piling up over the back of the couch, a few strands sticking to his face. Gimli brushed them tenderly out of the way, marveling at the silk-smooth of his husband’s skin beneath the pads of his fingers. Even touching him still felt like a miracle sometimes, even more after four days without that essential contact, and Gimli let his hands linger against Legolas’s cheek, rosy from the warmth of their living room, soft with the absence of tension –

He had to close his eyes for a moment at the rush of tenderness that washed over him at the sight of Legolas’s trusting vulnerability, the peace in his face. Four days was too long to go without this . . .

He shook himself. Legolas wouldn’t be waking up again tonight, and that meant he had to pack up their dinner – and he could use a shower himself, frankly . . .

He bent down again to slide a hand behind Legolas’s back, shifting the elf’s weight into his arm to ease him down flat onto the couch. Legolas let out a deep sigh, his mouth falling just the slightest bit open, and Gimli had to stop and press a hand to his chest, as though to contain the overwhelming swell of affection, before he could return to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand. The nice thing about eating straight from the takeout container: no dishes to wash, no eco-friendly stainless steel containers to dirty. He just closed up their boxes, stuck them in the fridge, and tossed the silverware into the sink to wash in the morning before turning out the lights and making for the bathroom.

Gimli had been known to linger over a shower every now and then – or all the time – but usually half the fun of the lingering was having Legolas in there with him doing things to his hair and body that made getting clean very difficult. Without that distraction, it went quickly, as it had the last two days. It had been the saddest part of Legolas’s self-imposed exile, showering alone.

Well – the second-saddest.

Steam billowed out from the bathroom into the bedroom when Gimli opened the door between them and gazed at the bed. It had never felt as big as it had the last few days when he went to bed alone, Legolas’s side cold and empty when he woke in the middle of the night reaching out for his absent husband. But now – at last – it felt welcoming again. He flicked on the reading lamp on his side of the bed and pulled the covers on Legolas’s all the way back to make the next part easier. Then he went out to the living room to get his husband.

During his brief absence, Legolas had turned more fully onto his side on the couch, long legs tucked partially up as though he had started curling into a ball and abandoned it halfway through. His eyes were fully closed now, his breathing deep and even, and one of his arms dangled off the edge of the couch, pale and almost glowing in the dim light from the bedroom.

Oh, it was so good to see him sleep. All those nights lying in bed alone, Gimli had imagined Legolas pacing outside like a trapped animal, trying to console himself by murmuring to his plants – or denying himself even that comfort. Now he was the picture of peace and rest, his face so still that it calmed Gimli just to look at him.

But behind him the bathroom fan still whirred, reminding him that he couldn’t just stand here and stare at Legolas all night. Instead he bent down, sliding one arm behind Legolas’s back and one around behind his knees. “Come on, love,” he murmured, though he knew Legolas wouldn’t wake up. “Time for bed.”

He scooped Legolas up in one smooth motion, lifting his long legs clear of the ground, and Legolas’s head nodded over Gimli’s shoulder. The elf’s body was still warm against his, in the way it was when he was fully content, and Gimli couldn’t resist tucking a kiss into the soft skin of his neck. Legolas snuffled softly and nestled closer into Gimli’s body, and Gimli’s knees nearly buckled.

How often had he half-woken in the hall between the living room and the bedroom, similarly bundled into Legolas’s (stronger-than-they-looked) arms, or woken to the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair urging him to get up and come to bed? This was a rarer treat, and Gimli meant to savor it.

He eased Legolas down into the bed, arranging his limbs just so and drawing the covers back up over him. Legolas sighed and smacked his lips, mumbling something Gimli couldn’t make out, and curled to the side the way he would wrap around Gimli, were he in the bed.

Another wave of that same tenderness broke over Gimli and he wasted no time turning off the fan and crawling in himself. Legolas’s groping hands found him immediately and it was no time before Gimli was tucked securely into his hold, elf arms and legs curled around him like a vine.

Ah, but he had missed this.

He had had vague thoughts of reading before bed, but Legolas was holding him so closely that that was no longer an option. Looking at his husband’s sleeping face, Gimli couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Good night,” he murmured, though he knew Legolas couldn’t hear him, and tilted his head just slightly up to press a lingering kiss to the spot right between Legolas’s brows.

Then, finally, he reached behind him with one fumbling hand and switched off the light.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and sleep continue to be a reward.

Gimli woke the next morning to pleasant warmth.

He sighed in contentment, reorienting himself to his surroundings without opening his eyes, and nestled deeper into the blankets, and into the warmth of Legolas’s body behind him. Legolas’s arm, draped loosely over him, shifted with his movement, but did not adjust automatically for it, and that sensation was unfamiliar enough to Gimli’s body to bring him entirely over the border of waking.

He opened his eyes a crack, letting them adjust to the sun flooding through the windows. He had slept in, then, and Legolas – 

He twisted very slowly, doing his best not to disturb his husband; Legolas sighed deeply but did not stir. His eyes were still closed, his mouth slack - still sunk in deep sleep as he rarely ever was at – Gimli glanced at the clock – nine on a Sunday morning.

But of course he would be. Memory had returned fully to Gimli along with consciousness, and it was no surprise that Legolas would have fallen so deeply asleep. He typically true-slept maybe once a week, usually only for about the same length of time as Gimli – but that was assuming he had been getting at least a few hours of reverie every day.  _ This _ week, where the bulk of his time had been spent pacing the balcony like a caged animal and presumably not relaxing enough to sleep at all – 

Well. Gimli had no idea how long Legolas would sleep, if left undisturbed.

Which meant . . .

The idea came to him in a burst of inspiration, enough to make getting up seem like a pleasure rather than a chore. Usually it was Legolas who was the obnoxious morning person; Gimli would have happily lain in his arms for another hour while waiting for him to wake, but – he could count on one hand the number of times he’d gotten to do this . . .

Holding his breath, he slipped out from underneath Legolas’s arm and eased himself out of bed as best he could without disturbing the bedsprings. Legolas curled into himself in Gimli’s absence but showed no sign of waking, so Gimli tucked the covers more securely around him and then tiptoed out of the room.

The general score of breakfast-in-bed was horribly unbalanced for the two of them, since Legolas did it for Gimli every time he was either especially unhappy or especially happy. The few times Gimli had tried to do it for Legolas on a special occasion, Legolas had woken up with the alarm Gimli had set for himself – and on mornings when Legolas wasn’t able to leave bed, he didn’t want breakfast, either. But today . . .

Well, the last few days had been horrible, but since they’d come out on the other side okay, today was a rare treat.

Gimli tiptoed around the kitchen to get everything ready and even stood in front of the electric kettle when it began to really agitate, as though he could somehow block the sound of the boiling water from reaching across the apartment to their bedroom. Tea for Legolas and coffee for him; orange juice just to make the occasion feel special. They were out of elf-safe bacon, but they had plenty of eggs, and – yes! There was pancake mix left!

Gimli stood in front of the fridge and frowned up at it. The waffle iron had been getting more use during quarantine than in the three years prior that they had owned it, but he hadn’t had to get it down on his own initiative before. At this rate they were going to have to move it into one of the lower cupboards with the more useful appliances. For the moment, he sighed and pulled a stool over so he could reach – and then set the waffle iron very carefully down on the counter before climbing down himself. No use overbalancing and crashing to the floor and waking Legolas despite everything.

When the first waffles were beginning to cook, though, and the scent began to suffuse the kitchen, Gimli realized there was no way he could muffle that like he had the sounds. Legolas would be waking up in minutes, no doubt, and he would get up to see where Gimli had gone – 

Time to take proactive action.

Getting down the breakfast tray necessitated another climb onto the stool, as though the kitchen itself were trying to rub in how rarely he got to make Legolas breakfast, but he managed it well enough and balanced the cup of green tea he had made for Legolas on it. There wasn’t much else to bring in, but he could at least get started. He felt a little silly carrying the mostly-empty tray into the bedroom in his sweatpants and bathrobe, but it was all about presentation, right?

He had guessed right – Legolas was just stirring and yawning when he entered the room. “Gimli,” he said when Gimli entered. “Good morning! Sorry I slept in” – 

“No,” Gimli interrupted. “I’m glad you slept in; you needed it.” He leaned carefully over the top of his tray to plant a kiss on Legolas’s forehead. “I’m just here to tell you not to get out of bed yet.”

Legolas made a truly expressive questioning, eyebrows crumpling in and then rotating up and out, his mouth opening as if to ask, and Gimli placed the mug of tea on his nightstand. “I’m making breakfast,” he said firmly.

“Ooh, the royal treatment!” said Legolas, eyeing the tray. “What’s the occasion?”

They both knew the occasion, of course, and Gimli didn’t think there was any need to bring scary things into this. “The occasion is that I love you and I never get to make you breakfast,” he said, pecking another kiss onto Legolas’s brow. “So you stay right there and drink your tea and I’ll be back in just a few minutes with the rest of it.”

“What’s the rest?” said Legolas, sniffing the air. “Pancakes?”

Gimli wondered if he was assuming that because he remembered how high up they kept the waffle iron, and resolved even more firmly that they were moving it to one of the lower cabinets. “No spoilers!” he said. “Just wait and you’ll see in a few minutes. But let me go before it burns!”

“Fine, fine,” said Legolas, laughing a little and relaxing back into bed - only to arch his back and extend his limbs in a long, luxurious stretch that made him look like a glowing golden wildcat. Gimli could only stare for a moment, entranced – and then he remembered his waffles.

“None of that!” he snapped. “No seducing me until after breakfast!”

And he fled towards the kitchen, with Legolas’s laughter ringing after him.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting to life post-pandemic is surprisingly hard sometimes. _Hard_ in multiple senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This chapter is the explicit one.** If you don't want to read sexual content, please skip this chapter, but we didn't want to change the rating of the whole story just for this one, especially since the sex in it is mostly (though not entirely) hypothetical and takes place in the form of dirty talk.
> 
> This chapter also takes place post-pandemic and is the last thing we have written for the moment. We've kept the snippets in chronological order for this posting, but we don't want the existence of this snippet to mean there won't ever be any more. It happened kind of by chance, but we've decided the way we'll indicate during-pandemic and post-pandemic in the future is that post-pandemic will be written in present tense (look, everyone can have some wishful dreaming!) and during-pandemic in past. Because someday it will be in the past. Hopefully. Maybe.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy. If sexy content is your thing, that is.

It isn’t until he is late for his very first social gathering that Legolas realizes how hard quarantine was on him. Not in any monetary way, or really any social sort of way - though emotionally he was up and down for a while there. 

No, it wasn’t about anything he lost in isolation, but the loss of what he’d unwittingly gained when the world came back again.

And of course, the world had to come back. Of course he missed being able to hug his friends freely - missed doling out his customary two-cheek kisses. He missed the crazy stories, the chaotic energy of a group of ten or more. He missed going out to the bars, even if he’s no longer a drinker (brings him too close to those dark, ocean-deep feelings). He missed going out for dinner, taking up space in a special back room specifically for functions, shouting down the length of long tables and passing around family-style casserole and the dessert menu.

All of these things are natural to have missed, natural to be grateful to finally get back _._

So why, _why_ is it that the one challenge, the thing that throws him the most off guard, is the prospect of having to once again share the guy he’s _literally_ spent the past _nine thousand consecutive hours_ with?

Here’s the thing. Relationships everywhere famously deteriorated in isolation. The joke is that people let themselves go - weight, hair, general social-gremlin vibe. This isn’t true of Legolas, professional selfie-taker, and it certainly isn’t true of Gimli. Naturally fastidious about his grooming, even while he’s bumming it, Gimli looks clean and comfortable. Presentable. Desirable. Well. He’s always desirable to Legolas, but that’s just the natural way of things. The point is, Gimli has not changed any of his habits during his Work From Home stint. He is as courteous of Legolas’ work schedule as ever, always willing to quiet down while he’s editing or take his class to the dining room when Legolas is filming. Nothing about Gimli has changed, no uncomfortable true-self revealed, save for maybe a more frequent appearance of his favorite Blue Mountain Billygoats t-shirt.

If anything has changed between them, it is that they’ve somehow grown closer. That, and as far as _new normals_ go, an increase in their already pretty robust sex life isn’t something you will ever hear Legolas complain about.

Gimli’s voice comes bellowing over the sound of Legolas’ hair dryer, which he snaps off with a responding shout out of their bathroom and into the bedroom. “ _What?_ ”

“I said we’re going to be late, come on!”

Legolas laughs, bundling the cord into a sloppy coil and shoving the appliance into the cabinet. “Five minutes late isn’t late. We’re going to Hunters’, not meeting the Valar.”

He ignores Gimli’s audible grumbling to smudge on some moisturizer, some concealer - and even a cheeky bit of highlighter for good measure.

“Legolas--” 

“Ok, ok,” Legolas is acquiescing, emerging finally from the humid air and echoing tiles. Then he stops short.

Gimli is in a green silk shirt - Legolas’ favorite, in fact. There is a tiny pattern of twisting leaves in etched gold throughout the fabric, and the effect is subtle, but it shimmers. Gimli looks up at him. There’s an elastic in his mouth while he ties his mane back into a half-pony, and where his arms are lifted his biceps swell enticingly beneath the sleeves. His mustache is freshly trimmed and lovingly waxed into his preferred upturn. Functionally, not much is different about Gimli now from Gimli an hour ago, but the sight sends a pleasurable zing through Legolas’ spine all the same. 

He feels it in his chest, the strength of their bond, the weight of the oath they’ve taken. He’s starting to feel some weight _elsewhere_ , too, but Gimli shatters the moment by tossing him the keys and nearly hitting him in the face with them. 

“Elevator eyes get off at this stop. C’mon, hup hup.”

* * *

It’s a beautiful evening, so Legolas drives. 

He has always loved driving, even though each of them are, more often than not, train commuters. Gimli always says keeping a car in Minas Tirith is a waste of space and money, but it’s Legolas’ name on the title and parking permit, so he will do as he pleases. Plus, driving Gimli around kindles a particular little flame within him, one that he does not often get to stoke. Where else can he rest a possessive hand on the dwarf’s knee in quite the same, authoritative way? 

Okay, yeah, so nothing’s exactly stopping him from fondling Gimli’s knees on the train - but he’s not _driving_ the train, now is he? And anyway, no mode of public transport has ever been compared to a sexy, dangerous animal. 

So he lets himself indulge, and soon the warmth of that indulgence has him shifting gears as well as shifting in his seat. Surely Gimli doesn’t mean to egg him on like this, but when he places his own big paw atop Legolas’ slender fingers, all the concentration expended on calming his blood to a respectable simmer is out the window like a receipt he’d meant to keep. The texture of Gimli’s slacks drives him wild all the way down to tier two, and he can’t help but dwell on the imagined feeling of how easy it would be to slide his hand up, up, to touch, to press his palm firm against the thick seam of that place.

But he doesn’t. Instead he removes his hand to maneuver the silver coupe into a smoothly executed parallel park, about a block away from the restaurant. 

A week ago, Sam insisted he could host at Gaffer’s - but everyone else dog-piled on him until he relented to take a night off, so they’re at The Three Hunters instead. Legolas regrets not sticking up for his hobbit friend, not for altruistic reasons, but more because if this night goes the way he’s suspecting, he might not have enough blood left in his brain to get them home again. At least Gaffer’s would have been close enough to campus that, if he was lucky, Legolas could _maybe_ tumble Gimli into his office. Legolas sighs and kills the engine.

“Why so sour?” Gimli is peering at him from the passenger seat. He looks roguish, all tilted smile and mischievous eyes. “You’d think you miss being all cooped up.”

“What, am I not allowed to breathe?” Legolas sassily retorts. They trade goofy faces. He blows a raspberry for good measure.

“Watch that tongue, or you just might lose it.”

This is precisely the wrong thing to say to Legolas at this moment. He shudders pleasantly. Squares his shoulders, counts to three, and by the time he opens his eyes again (when had he closed them?) Gimli is out of the car and on the sidewalk. The heavy thunk of the passenger door closing makes him feel like he’s trapped in an oven, and in a bid for freedom he hurls himself out of his own seat and nearly into oncoming traffic on unsteady legs.

The fabric of Gimli’s button-up strains with the enormous breath of fresh air he takes as they make their way down to the green-brick building. He’s talking about how damn _nice_ it is out, which is true, but it’s not as nice to feel as it is to see. The shirt may be his favorite, but it really is a shame that the tailored fit doesn’t even offer him the slightest peek at the wiry chest hair beneath. Instead Legolas is admiring the way the setting sun glances off of Gimli’s profile when Tauriel calls to them from behind, and then Boromir calls to them from the door, and then everyone is swept up into the din of the freedom that is their first post-pandemic reunion.

There is plenty to catch up on, plenty to talk about, but all through the cocktails and appetizers Legolas has resigned himself to a state of petulant low-grade horniness. He tries, and does a pretty good job at faking being a normal person, but it’s a challenge that has him overwarm even in the over-air conditioned back room. He can’t take his eyes off the way Gimli looks, can’t stop getting lost in the devastating knowledge that he is a body that occupies space, that he is a body that could be occupying _his_ space, and when Gimli squeezes behind his chair on his way to the restroom, Legolas could swear his skin sizzles where the dwarf’s hands fondly squeeze at his shoulders. 

Legolas is too classy to chase after his husband into a public bathroom.

At least, that’s what he tells himself for about three minutes of pretending to listen to Aragorn’s tired recollection of his extremely busy year. Yeah, whatever, so he runs the place, so he’s the big-shot who coordinated vaccine distribution, so what? Gimli’s gone from the place next to him, gone from the seat where Legolas has a straight shot and free reign to smooth his palm up and down his arm in the guise of an affectionate gesture that is actually a pittance, a consolation prize while he day-dreams about how hard he wants to be railed tonight. 

How hard Aragorn works isn’t news. In fact, it is why Gimli is back on campus again at MTU, far away from any further indulgent lunchtime blowjobs.

Legolas sucks on his own tongue at the memory.

When the subject at the table changes naturally, Legolas uses the break to excuse himself. He even thinks he does a pretty convincing job of casually exiting the room like an elf who _isn’t_ on the prowl with a low-sitting hunger for a hand in his pants. Tauriel pats him companionably on the ass as he passes her, but otherwise nobody notices him go.

Gimli is drying off with a hand-towel when Legolas enters the two-stall restroom. The place smells clean, which is a plus, but Legolas is so wound up that he figures he’d shoot his shot even in a filthy train station at this point. Even under these shitty fluorescent lights Gimli looks so gorgeous somehow - Legolas would name it a mystery, but the man also looks great in a Zâram window, so it’s probably just one of Gimli’s many gifts.

“Hey,” Legolas says to him, ready to pounce. He’s leaned back against the door he came through, ready to block the exit while he pleads his case for a charity handjob.

Suffice to say, his world is turned on its arse when Gimli surges forward like a linebacker, pressing the full length of his smaller body up against Legolas’. Legolas chokes out a small sound he is helpless but to make, and somehow Gimli has insinuated his thigh between Legolas’ own, something Legolas is more than happy to take advantage of.

“Hey,” Gimli replies, and his tone is cool as steel. Gimli always has had the better poker face. Here Legolas thought he’d be the one doing the sweet talking, and to suddenly find himself rutting, fully clothed, against his husband in a public restroom by Gimli’s own lead is so erotic it’s nearly like feeling drunk again.

Gimli can’t kiss him like this, he’s too short. But the next best thing he can do is snake his big hands under the elf’s blazer, press his palms roughly into the meat of his ass, press his nose against Legolas’ ribs through his blouse and breathe deep the sweaty heat Legolas has been building all evening.

“Seen you watching me,” Gimli growls as he urges Legolas’ hips forward to grind his now fully hard sex into the solid weight of the dwarf.

“ _Abweuh_?” Legolas is incoherent in the onslaught.

“Dirty elf, getting me all hot in public. You owe me a _thorough_ fuck tonight.”

“I do?” Legolas gasps. He wants to give Gimli everything he’s asking for. He can’t do anything else. 

“Hff. Wish you could give it to me raw right here, Leg. Use nothin’ but your tongue to get my arsehole nice‘n wet, use your spit. You have no idea how hard it is to pay attention to Bo’s new girlfriend when all I can think about is how _good_ it’s gonna feel when you fuck me tonight.” Gimli lifts Legolas by the ass and hoists him onto his knee, a motion that causes Legolas to slide a full foot downwards against the door. His blazer bunches up around his waist and his shirt has been yanked out of where it was once tucked into his pants. Legolas is helpless to do anything but buck his hips and moan.

“That’s what I want, don’t you want to give it to me?”

“Yes?” Legolas whines, delirious.

Gimli chuckles darkly. “Great. It’ll be hard, but I’m patient. I can wait, if waiting means you’ll give it to me so good, Amralime.”

And then he pulls back, leaving Legolas suddenly scrambling to support his own weight in the awkward quasi-squat of a chair-pose, back flush against the door, palms scrabbling against the wood, skin on fire and eyes wide and wild like the floor has been yanked out from underneath him.

“Wh- _what?_ ”

Gimli helps him shakily to his feet, smooths out his rumpled shirt and his blazer, looking devastatingly like nothing ever happened. He tugs Legolas’ lapels and has the absolute _nerve_ to administer a sweet, innocent kiss to his cheek.

“See you for dessert,” Gimli says. And then he’s gone, leaving nothing but the brief burst of ambient dining room noises, and then ringing silence as the door closes behind him.

Legolas has no idea what just happened, but he knows it takes him a solid seven minutes of reciting his Khuzdul verb conjugations before he’s calmed his body down enough to re-enter polite society.


End file.
